A quiet Sunday.
First there was the crossword puzzle.
Then there was my regular writing group:
“We don’t talk about the boysenberry incident,” said Rogers. “I won’t lie, it was a rough time for all of us here at the company. But we’ve retired the flavor, and we’ve settled with the families of the victims out of court. We’re moving on.”
He eyed the young reporter from the Frozen Dairy Times. Karen, or — no, wait, Careen, she had politely corrected him — and regretted, not for the first time, having agreed to this tour of the facility and interview. Corporate had insisted — all part of their kinder, gentler initiative, a “so sorry we accidentally poisoned some of your ice cream last year” — but now was a terrible time for it. There was the new hire in flavor development to contend with, for one, who continued to insist his lab was understocked and a disgrace, and someone in order processing had accidentally swapped two-percent for skim milk again, all eighty-eight gallons of it. But most of all, there was that cryptic memo from the head of R&D Rogers had received in his in-box just that morning: “New technology. Tighten cybersecurity. Tell no one.” The first time he’d seen a memo like that, it had been before they’d released their best-selling creme de menthe and butterscotch swirl. They’d cornered the market, skyrocketed the company to the big league and, for the first time, the national supermarkets. But the last time he’d seen this kind of memo had been right before the boysenberry incident. This could be accolades or tainted berries, and either way Rogers didn’t need a nosy reporter snooping around while he tried to figure it out.
“So if you don’t mind me asking,” said Careen, flipping the page of her little notebook and clicking her pen, “what are you working on now? I’m sure our loyal readers would love to hear how Super Tastie Ice Cream plans to bounce back from last year’s troubles.”
“Oh, you know,” said Rogers. “Several irons, lots of fires. A bit of this, a scoop of that. Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid.”
“That’s not what I heard,” said Careen. “Word on the street is your R&D department has been stockpiling loganberries and home-brewing its own marshmallow sauce.”
“No comment,” said Rogers. Damn, where was this woman getting her information? It was going to be a long, long day if he couldn’t get rid of her.
Yeah, I don’t know either.
Then there was the new Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. It was…I guess the word I’m looking for is “okay.” It’s very well cast, often quite well acted, and looks every bit like 1970s England. And yet…dear lord is it ever slow. Like the book, which I read originally in anticipation of the movie over the summer, a lot the appeal is that slowness, the tedium, the very humdrum reality and paper-pushing of being a spy. John le Carré’s novel may be one of the few I’ve read where boredom is actually kind of a selling point. Yet that slowness isn’t necessarily very cinematic. There’s a lot to really like about the film, particularly in the performances and subtle moments, but at times I felt like there were just too many subtle moments — too many scenes of quiet men having hushed conversations or just exchanging knowing looks in smoky rooms. If I hadn’t read the book, and so recently, I might very well have been lost.
It’s far from a terrible movie — it looks too good and has too many good performances for that — but I’m not entirely convinced I enjoyed it.
This evening, though, I watched about half of Aliens, which I definitely enjoyed. I haven’t seen it in years, but for Christmas I got the Anthology, Blu-ray discs of all four films. (It looks incredible in that format, by the way.) I’d still be watching it now — and long into the night — if I didn’t accept the fact that I have to go back to work tomorrow.
